Book Four: It's Another Cookbook

"I want to go home."

The Doctor let his shoulders drop, but he couldn't exactly blame Clara. She had taken a shower in her room in the TARDIS, but that didn't erase the fact that she had been covered in blood and who-knows-what-else not that long ago. She had every reason to want to rest and recover.

And he really did feel bad. He had personally vouched for the Winchesters, and what had happened? Clara was never going to trust them again, but the TARDIS loved the boys. The Doctor doubted this would be the last time they'd run into each other.

The trick, then, would be trying to find them earlier in their timeline. Before Dean lost himself.

The Doctor started pulling levers and pushing buttons, a bit more subdued than usual as they headed home, but every time Clara looked his way, he put on a smile for her. "Next time, I should take you to one of my favorite nebulas. You can hear the stars singing as they're being formed—but only there. A planetary explosion a hundred years ago sent psychic waves from the population into the nebula."

"Sounds interesting," Clara said, though she was half distracted as she put her hair up, watching the Doctor work the controls. "And also maybe a bit depressing."

"It's an entire planet's worth of art and emotion," the Doctor said.

Clara smiled softly and came to join him at the controls, looking over his shoulder. "Home first, though," she said, and he nodded.

"Yes, of course. Unless you wanted-"

"No, home first. I need rest," Clara said. "But if you want to go get into trouble without me, just promise me you won't get stuck," she added, more of her usual teasing smile coming back. She had been shaken pretty badly, yes, but the Doctor was relieved to see she somehow hadn't been scared off.

"Me? Stuck?" he teased her, and she shook her head and squeezed his arm.

"Never," she agreed, matching his teasing tone.

Soon enough, the TARDIS had touched down outside her home, and the Doctor waved her off with a promise to be back soon. And, really, as he closed the doors to the TARDIS, he had to admit that he was glad she insisted on taking care of herself, on taking breaks. That was smart.

He was just so frustrated that she needed to leave.

"Well, that could have gone better," he told the TARDIS dryly as he went back to her console, looking over the controls as he tried to think of somewhere to go that would be enough of a change that he could get his emotional feet back underneath him.

The TARDIS dinged its agreement, sounding almost forlorn.

"Well." The Doctor clapped his hands together. "Where to next, old girl? Can't stay here and let the grass grow!"

The TARDIS dinged at him, and he broke into a smile, moving with a bit more energy around the console as he got ready to leave, shooting one last glance at the monitor to see if Clara was okay before he patted the console right in the center, grinning at the ding he got in response.

"Of course I trust you," he said—and then had to grip onto the console tightly when takeoff was a smidge more exciting than usual. "Oh, you're in a mood."

Soon enough, the TARDIS dinged to let him know she had landed, and the Doctor checked the information on the instruments. He was still on Earth—and not too far in time, either. A small jump across the pond to America a couple years before when he'd just left Clara. Which was itself about a year before where he and Clara had jumped when he'd suggested a trip to Earth.

"Small jumps this time, hm?" the Doctor asked, leaning forward to look over the information. A small town in the middle of nowhere… middle of the United States… on a Sunday? "Winchesters on the brain still?" he guessed, shaking his head as he reached out to stroke the central column.

The TARDIS opened its doors in response, almost expectantly.

"Well, you've never been patient before. I can't possibly expect you to start now," the Doctor said, readjusting his bowtie.

With that, he strolled out into a crisp fall day, somewhere in the Southeast of the United States, judging by the forests that were only now starting to show their colors. A few birds still sang in the trees, and the mosquitoes hadn't gotten cold enough to go away. Neither had the flies.

It was, in short, the worst kind of fall day, but it was crisp.

"What have you gotten us into?" the Doctor mused in the TARDIS's direction, but she had already shut her doors, probably to keep out the bugs. He let out a huff of a laugh at that and then spun himself around, pointed in a direction that seemed like it might include adventure, and started walking.

He couldn't see anybody around, and he walked directly into a spiderweb at one point. The sun wasn't setting, there was no indication of life other than the occasional deer, and this was surprisingly boring.

He was just about to turn around and admit defeat—which he hated to do, but he was starting to suspect that he'd picked the wrong direction—when he heard just the softest sound of footsteps. Whoever was coming his way wasn't trying to warn animals off, but he wasn't sneaking around, either.

But he was oddly quiet, too. Most humans out in the middle of nowhere would stop occasionally to look at something. Or maybe they'd have a pet with them. Or they'd be listening to music. But this was just a straight, unflinching march.

Definitely worth investigating.

He tried to be as quiet as he could as he followed the source of the noise, wincing when he stepped on something that snapped. He used to know how to do this sort of thing. And yes, he was capable of being conniving. And, if he said so himself, he was very clever. But this particular regeneration… well, he hadn't been sneaky ever since he took this form.

A couple iterations ago, though, he could have gone without a sound.

Maybe those big ears were good for hearing how much noise I was making, he thought to himself, laughing under his breath.

And speaking of sounds…. The noise he had been following shifted and headed his way, still echoing with deliberate footsteps. And since the Doctor knew he'd been found out, he didn't try to hide or shy away from what was coming. Instead, he leaned against a tree and crossed his arms, doing his best to look "cool."

"What are you doing here?" a familiar voice asked long before the Doctor could see who was coming.

Immediately, the Doctor straightened up, his pretenses falling away. Because that voice sounded like Sam Winchester, but the psychic impression he was getting…

Well, he wasn't getting one.

And that was very much not good at all.